Free Death 07 - For the Love of Death by Tamara Rose Blodgett

Like a rotting cherry on top, my death energy leaks all over him, and now he looks all lovely and alive. Somehow.
    Wow.
    The worst part is he's a killer.
    And he's all mine.
    “Mistress?”
    I clear my throat, smoothing my riot of hair out of the way. I grab the hair band off my wrist and tie the mess in a huge knot at the base of my neck.
    “It’s Deegan,” I say quietly.
    His pupils contract as a slice of sunlight spears the forest, turning his dark eyes to cerulean blue. All colors. One.
    I swallow, slopping through some manners finally.
    “What's—what's your name?”
    “Mitchell,” he says.
    Then there is nothing.
    The question hangs between us. He's just waiting for me to ask.
    “Who did you kill?” I ask in a soft voice. I don't have to be afraid. There's never been a documented case of a zombie killing an AFTD. It's as though there's a fail safe. We control the dead.
    I am still afraid. His physical presence is intimidating.
    He cocks his head. “How do you know I've killed anyone?”
    His face tells me nothing. Cheekbones like forward slashes sculpt a young, hard face.
    I look down at my hands. “I can’t raise… anyone who is not a murderer.”
    Shame makes my face hot.
    Then he laughs.
    I snap my head up. Hands to hips, lips thinning. “What is so funny?”
    Because it’s not.
    He's not chuckling, but laughing deeply, from his belly. “First, I don't know how you can know that. Second, I don't know what I am, why you matter, what in the hell is going on, and third—I don't want to go back.”
    I retreat a step. Out of all the zombies I have to raise, it’s one of the really bad ones. Of course, when all I can raise as a four-point are murderers, the choices become limited.
    I don’t want to go back , he said.
    I do. I very much want to go back.
    So what does an almost seventeen-year-old girl do? She bursts into tears.
    Arms envelop me.
    The smell of rot is gone because my emotions are all over the place, and I can’t control the leakage.
    I smell many things. The main thing is death.
    For an AFTD, death is home. I take a shuddering inhale and grip Mitchell the Zombie’s shirt.
    The flannel is soft beneath my fingertips.
    The heart I made beat strokes my face with its rhythm, and I cry harder.
    His hand comes to the back of my head. “I am here, Mistress.”
    “I know,” I sniffle, supremely pissed at myself for losing it.
    I pull away, and he thumbs my tears away.
    “Deegan.”
    Mitchell smiles. “Deegan. And what a funny name that is.”
    I nod. The parents weren’t great on picking our names. I love them anyway.
    I give him a watery smile.
    “I murdered the men responsible for killing my family.”
    I look into his face. The unforgiving and matter of fact way he says it brooks no argument. Uncompromising.
    “Oh,” I answer in lame reply.
    His expression tightens, his eyes glazing to a faraway look, his hands unconsciously clenching into loose fists.
    “I was in college, close to home, living with my folks, and I was in charge. They were out of town, see.”
    I did see.
    Anguish.
    Guilt.
    Responsibility.
    I see it all.
    He stares at the ground, exhaling in a rush, and gives a harsh scrub of his head. “Some chumps thought they had easy pickings. Scoping out the neighborhood, I’m sure their plan was to be in an out.”
    I shook my head, denying the story to come, and he laughs.
    It sounds like choking despair to me, not a bit of humor.
    One breath, two… on the third he says it. “They did my sister first.”
    His gaze moves to mine. He doesn’t explain.
    I close my eyes to the grief. His.
    “She was only fifteen.” He pauses. “Then they did my brother. Of course—he was trying to protect her. At twelve.” He shakes his head slowly. “Not a chance in hell. Two guys, twenties.”
    I have many questions. But I let him finish.
    He raises his eyes, locking with mine. Full of malice. They glitter as I stand beneath the weight of remembered violence.
    “They didn’t know